Isla
With her senses sharp, even moreso in the darkness, Isla can hear something shifting in the grasses behind her. And although she doesn't move from where she's placing her flowers into her basket, her fingers become tipped with scalpel-sharp blades, in preparation for a fight if necessary. So when she hears a voice instead, she does straighten up, turning to eye the stranger through the ethereal moonlight. "The dark doesn't bother me," she says with a small smile. "And besides, I am not alone any longer, am I?"
Not now that he has arrived. Shifting her basket in the crook of her arm, the blades remain upon her fingertips, but she otherwise appears unruffled by his interruption. (Appears being the operative word). "Also, I daresay I could say the same about you, couldn't I?" She'd step aside as if to let him go along his way, but given that he's stopped to make conversation, she doubts that will happen.
Not now that he has arrived. Shifting her basket in the crook of her arm, the blades remain upon her fingertips, but she otherwise appears unruffled by his interruption. (Appears being the operative word). "Also, I daresay I could say the same about you, couldn't I?" She'd step aside as if to let him go along his way, but given that he's stopped to make conversation, she doubts that will happen.
sooner or later, we all have to wake
and try forgetting everything
and try forgetting everything
